


A Bond As Strong As Steel

by NaturallyDark



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Crowbar/Die (one-sided), If this isn't your otp I don't know what to tell you, Inanimate Objects, Intermission (Homestuck), It's a ship between Crowbar and the actual crowbar, Other, The Felt - Freeform, Yes you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 10:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14932700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaturallyDark/pseuds/NaturallyDark
Summary: Talking to people is hard. That's why Crowbar's lover isn't a person.





	A Bond As Strong As Steel

            The last song on the CD decrescendos, drawing to a close, as Crowbar deliberates about how to handle this situation. This situation is far from a pretty one – he was sitting at his desk, sorting through some paperwork and muttering obscenities at the ridiculous bills some of his fellow Felt members had managed to rack up, when Die came a-knocking at his door with a handful of flowers and a mouthful of confessions. Now he’s standing before Crowbar, breathing hard and sweating nervously. For lack of better things to do, Crowbar neatly snubs out his cigarette into the ashtray and leans back in his swivel chair, turning his eyes to the ceiling.

            It’s not that he doesn’t like the guy – for all his faults and eccentricities, Die’s one of the least obnoxious members of the gang, and among the few that Crowbar considers friends. But he doesn’t like him like… _that._

            “Die,” he begins, and he’s already aware of the fact that he’s spent too long thinking about what to say, and that his voice is too impersonal, and that Die has probably just deduced exactly how he’s going to continue this sentence despite the fact that he’s still looking at his boss with hopeful, longing eyes. “I’m honoured that you hold me in such high regard, and I’m sure it took a lot of courage to…” Wait, that’s wrong. He clears his throat and tries again.

            “You’ve always been a good friend…” Fuck.

            “It’s not that I don’t like you…” _Fuck._

            “It’s just, I don’t do moons…” Frog fucking dammit, why is this so fucking hard.

            Die seems to get the idea, however, and looks away, chewing on his lip.

            “I-I understand, b-boss,” he stammers, beginning to back away. “Uh, s-sorry I bothered y-you, I’ll just. Go.” He beats a hasty retreat out through the door, slamming it a little harder than necessary behind him. Crowbar stares at the closed door for a moment, then leans forward on his desk and rubs at his temples, sighing. Frog, that was painful. Barking out orders to his teammates is easy, but this kind of personal shit gets his tongue tied like nothing else. Leprechauns – people – can be so hard to talk to sometimes.

           He spends another half a minute with his head in his hands, then gets up and presses the play button on his CD player. The CD starts up from the first track again, playing music Crowbar’s only remotely interested in. It’s just some quiet background noise to dull the constant noise of ticking from the hallway. Besides Crowbar’s watch (and inventoried collection of backup watches), there’s only one clock in the room. He glances up at it, then reconfirms the time by checking his watch. The two are of course perfectly synced to the second, but it doesn’t hurt to be certain. There’s a mandatory meeting with the Doc in about half an hour and Crowbar really should be heading out now to round up the needed participants, but he’s really not keen on talking to Die right after he so eloquently rejected him. Knowing Die, he probably stuck a pin in that doll of his the second he walked out of the office. If only Crowbar’s brain didn’t turn to mush every time he had to talk romance with a living being, he could have reminded him about the meeting before he left.

            Crowbar paces around the room, frowning. He needs to go soon, but this stress is too distracting. He needs to talk with someone who will understand. Someone who won’t judge him, and who will soothe his nerves. Someone who loves him as much as he loves them.

            Well, a few minutes can’t hurt.

            Crowbar strides purposefully over to the door. Then he locks it. He walks back to his desk and plops down in his chair, already feeling a little better. It’s not like nobody knows about his faithful companion – in fact, literally everybody knows about them, often before meeting them – but few would even suspect the relationship they have. On some level, Crowbar knows it’s wrong, and he fears the backlash he would likely face were the secret about his controversial relationship to be made public, but he can’t help it. A love like this only comes once in a pink moon.

            From that coveted first slot of his inventory, Crowbar retrieves his one and only beloved and takes a moment to savour that comforting weight in his palms, the cool steel against his soft skin. He runs a hand down its maroon length, feeling every nick and scrape it’s accumulated over the years he’s known it. It seems like an eon ago that Crowbar’s master bestowed this priceless gift upon him. From the moment he first laid his eyes upon it, Crowbar knew this would be a very special friend and, accordingly, took on its name as his own. That move has resulted in more than a few marriage jokes made at his expense, but since the most obvious course of retaliation is to simply whack those comedians over the head with a bent piece of tempered metal, the jokes are all also made at the teller’s expense.

            “Love, dearest, Die confessed his feelings to me just now,” Crowbar murmurs, holding the crowbar against his cheek. “I’m afraid I made a fool of myself. I couldn’t let him down gently enough.”

            The crowbar says nothing, but Crowbar understands. Speaking aloud to it is a formality when the two of them are already connected on a much deeper level.

            “I know I did my best, but I feel terrible. He didn’t deserve that kind of letdown.”

            Crowbar feels the comforting reassurances of his lover resonate within his very soul. He smiles and holds it a little tighter, eyes half-lidded.

            “Thank you. I really needed to hear that.” Crowbar plants a chaste kiss just above the crowbar’s prongs. “You always know just what to say.”

            A brief glance up at the wall clock tells Crowbar this is all the time he gets alone with his companion for now. He sighs and gives the crowbar one more loving caress before standing and reluctantly heading towards the door.

            “I’m afraid it’s back to acting strictly professional now, dearest,” he says, his voice still in that soothing tone reserved for none other than his beloved. “Perhaps tonight, if whatever errand the Doc is sending us on doesn’t run too late, we’ll once again be free to speak with each other. We could even cuddle for a while before bed, if you’d like.” His face goes red just suggesting it, but after a moment of listening for the reply, he smiles in relief.

            “I’ll be looking forward to it, then.” His expression is still of fondness when he unlocks and opens the door and comes face-to-face with Quarters.

            Crowbar stares at him, motionless.

            Quarters stares back at him, expressionless.

            Deducing why he’s here is easy – probably to ask Crowbar about the meeting or to see why he’s taking so long to get out of his room. More difficult to deduce is how long he’s been standing here, listening in on the conversation.

            Crowbar tries to explain, but no words come out. His guilt reads plainly on his face and in the way he’s cradling the crowbar in one arm. Several tense seconds drag on, during which time neither party speaks nor moves.

            Then, Quarters slowly raises a fist in front of him, still stony-faced. Crowbar feels a bead of sweat run down his back. After a moment, the fist turns into a thumbs-up.

            “See you at the meeting,” Quarters says gruffly, then turns and walks away down the hall, the heavy minigun slung on his back swaying with each step. Crowbar watches him go. His grip on the crowbar tightens. Somehow, it seems he’s lucked out. His secret relationship will remain so for now.

            Crowbar lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, then adjusts his hat and steps into the hall, closing the door behind him. Though he isn’t looking forward to going on whatever mission the Doc has planned for them and is even less eager about rounding up a bunch of unruly leprechauns, knowing that his love is here for him and will still be here when the day is done is enough to motivate him to keep going.

            Holding the faithful crowbar with one hand, he sets off with a spring in his step.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate ending:  
> "I love you, my sweet," the crowbar whispered, looking longingly across the hall towards Quarters' minigun. "Forgive me..."
> 
> Shoutouts to Campix for helping me write this thing.


End file.
